Healing Montana Sky (26 page)

Be I ready now?

She wasn’t sure.

CHAPTER TWENTY

C
arrying a pail of grain and a large milk jar, Pa led Henri toward the trees in the pasture where the cows had already gathered waiting to be milked. “These ladies are docile enough.” He shook his head. “When I was a boy, we sure had some ornery ones. Kick you. Kick over the pail. We had to tie their hind legs together.”

Henri also carried an empty pail. In his haste to match Pa’s wide strides, he banged the pail against his leg.

A few cows stamped and stared at him, so he held the pail away from his body lest he make noise again.

Pa motioned for Henri to come closer, gesturing toward the first brown cow. “This is Grandma Belle. She’s a gentle old lady, matriarch of my herd.”

Henri didn’t want to ask what
matriarch
meant.

“Approach her slowly,” Pa said softly. “Speak in a low voice and pat her side so she knows you’re there. You don’t want to scare her, so keep your movements slow. Then you can rub her head and nose like you would a horse.”

“Hiya.” Henri borrowed a greeting Daniel used each morning when he saw his friends at school. But instead of sounding friendly like the older boy, the word came out more like a mouse squeak. He tried again. “Hiya, Grandma Belle.” He looked at Pa to see if he’d done it right.

Pa winked and jerked his thumb toward the cow, urging Henri ahead of him.

Reluctantly, his stomach cramping, he sidled toward Grandma Belle’s head. Up close, the animal appeared much bigger than she did out in the pasture.

Pa set down the pail and lowered a hand to Henri’s shoulder. “You made friends with my horses, Henri, and you’re real good with the mules. You’ll be just fine with these ladies.”

Somewhat reassured, Henri moved to pet Grandma Belle.

The cow turned big brown eyes toward him.

Henri decided she didn’t seem so scary after all. He stroked her nose, thinking that she smelled sort of like a horse, although with some mud and manure added in, and her hide felt rougher.

They moved into the barn through the back and filled a long shallow bin with small piles of grain, topping each mound with plenty of hay. After they opened the barn doors, in stepped cow after cow, right up to the bin. There was some head butting over the food, so Pa nudged each animal along until the five were evenly lined up and tied each animal to a post.

Pa pointed to a low stool. “This is where I sit to milk.” He took a seat. “Place the bucket like so.” He set the pail under the cow’s udder and motioned for Henri to come closer. “Sit on the ground next to me so you can see everything.”

Henri dropped into a cross-legged position. With a sinking feeling, he stared at four long teats drooping from Grandma Belle’s distended udder. From this angle, the cow seemed even bigger.

“We wash off the udder.” Pa dipped a rag in the warm soapy water in a pail he’d brought on an early trip to the barn and wiped off the cow. “Now watch.” Pa took hold of two teats. “See my hand, like this?” He demonstrated with the teat nearest Henri. “Squeeze downward. With your smaller hand, you’ll probably have to slide down like this. Keep your grip on the top, so milk doesn’t flow back into the udder. Got that?” He glanced at Henri for confirmation.

Not at all sure he did, Henri nodded back.

“Good. Now, you’re not to pull or tug, hear? She won’t like that.” Pa glanced at him. “The first squirt from each teat goes onto the ground, not into the pail. To clean her out, so to speak.”

“Yes, Pa.”

“Repeat with your other hand, going back and forth between the teats. Continue until that part of the udder looks deflated.” Deftly, Pa milked Grandma Belle, talking as he worked. “You’ll need to keep an eye on her back, for if she arches, she’s about to drop cow pies. You don’t want to foul the milk, so grab the bucket and move out of the way.” Pa glanced at Henri. “Ready to try?”

What if I can’t do it?
But not wanting to disappoint Pa, he nodded.

Pa scooted back on the stool. “Sit in front of me and reach for the udder.”

Henri took a seat. Held between Pa’s strong legs, he leaned over and took a hold of the two nearest teats. They felt warm in his hands. His first squeeze didn’t produce anything.

“Slide your hands.”

He squeezed and slipped his hands down the teats. Some milk squirted out and splashed into the pail.

“There you go.” Pa spoke with an encouraging tone. “Keep doing it. Not both hands together, though. First one hand, then the other. Find a rhythm.”

The cow mooed, startling Henri, and he let go.

Pa patted his leg. “She’s just talking to you. Get on back to milking now.”

Henri bent to the task, feeling satisfaction every time he saw the white stream and heard the
splash-splot
sound as the milk hit the sides of the pail. After a while, his hands grew tired. He slowed, but kept going. The milk dried to a dribble.

Pa patted Henri’s leg. “Let me take over and finish up the ole gal. We’re not going to strip all the milk from her. When we’re finished, we’ll let the calves out, and they will do that.”

Henri didn’t want to stop, but he couldn’t make his hands move anymore.

“You can help with the next one.” Pa eased Henri out of the way. “Shake out your hands. That will uncramp them.”

Henri stood. He spread his arms and flapped his hands, watching Pa’s every move. This time, he better understood what Pa was doing.

Delilah lurked a few feet away, tail straight up and ears pricked. When he turned to her, she mewed and walked over to them, sniffing and rubbing against Pa’s legs.

The cat had birthed five kittens, and after a few days, she’d allowed Henri near them. He loved to spend time with the little bundles of fluff in the morning and after school.

To his astonishment, the cat walked right under the cow.

“Meow.” She sat on her haunches, front paws in the air.

Pa grinned at Henri. “Someone wants her supper.”

The cat eyed Grandma Belle’s udder.

Pa aimed a teat at Delilah and squirted milk at her mouth.

Delilah lapped at the milk as fast as she could. Some splattered on her face, but she didn’t stop to lick the milk off.

Henri laughed. “Delilah has a white mustache.”

Eyebrows raised, Pa sent him a glance filled with humor and pride.

Henri had never seen that look on Pa’s face, and something warm and good and achy swelled in his chest. “Think you could do that with Jacques, Pa?”

“Sure thing. Just have to get him to smile. That grin of his is plenty bigger than Delilah’s.”

Henri laughed again, thinking of Jacques’s
grenouille
grin and the surprised look he’d have on his face when Pa shot that milk at him. “Can we do it tomorrow?”

Pa winked. “We’ll introduce Jacques to Grandma Belle. Might as well bring your
maman
along so she can see what a good milker you are.”

After Erik bore Henri off to help with the horses and get his first milking lesson, Antonia cleaned and fed two cranky babies. Once they’d gotten dry bottoms and food in their stomachs, Jacques and Camilla settled down. Because the evening was still warm, she washed up on the porch using the washcloth and Daisy’s fragrant soap to clean herself all the way down to her waist.

Later, while she was cooking dinner, frying up the rabbits she’d taken from the springhouse, Henri rushed in, jabbering about learning to milk. He ran down the list of what he’d done, obviously repeating the instructions Erik had given him. Encouraged by her nods, he moved back and forth with her as she carried dishes to the table.

Here he be!
The sight of her son’s bright face made her heart soar. Up until now, she’d only caught glimpses of the happy boy he’d been before Jean-Claude’s death. However, after those cheerful moments, Henri always retreated into his sadness.

His voice trailed off.

She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Proud of you, I be. Now out to the porch and wash up.”

Antonia set the table, including the serving pieces that Erik wanted but she thought unnecessary.
More dishes to be washing up after dinner.

Henri skipped back inside, heading toward Jacques.

She watched with amusement, seeing a now-clean boy tell his little brother all about milking a cow, complete with hand motions. She laughed at his glee when he recounted Pa squirting the milk at the cat and promised Jacques a treat tomorrow.

Jacques’s enthusiastic “Baa, Harri!” apparently served to encourage him.

Henri took the small boy’s hands and tried to show him how to move his fingers as if clutching a cow’s teat.

Through the open door, Antonia heard Erik’s heavy footsteps on the porch, followed by the sound of splashing water. She pushed the frying pan to the cooler part of the stovetop. Picking up the liniment bottle from the table, she stepped through the door.

Bare to the waist, Erik bent over the washbasin.

Suddenly, she wondered if the liniment was such a good idea after all. Without his shirt, Antonia could see the breadth of Erik’s shoulders and how his muscled back sloped to a narrow waist. The position showed his tight, well-formed buttocks and massive legs.

She inhaled a sharp breath, and with a sudden feeling of shyness, almost turned and fled inside. But a stronger current swept her across the porch, her moccasins silent on the wooden floor.

Straightening, he picked up the second bar, the one smelling of bay leaves, and rubbed the washcloth over the side of the soap. He tried to reach the center of his back and winced.

His arms must be sore.
“Here, let me help.” She set the bottle on the porch rail.

He paused, glanced over his shoulder at her, and his lazy smile widened into a slow grin. “Can’t say I’ll turn down your offer.”

Antonia took the washcloth from him and placed it just under his neck. She slowly ran the cloth down his spine and across the bottom of his back, then moved her hand in small circles.

He shivered.

In almost sensual motions, Antonia stroked the cloth until she’d covered his whole back. She dunked the washcloth into the basin and rinsed it out. Picking up the ewer, she poured some clean warm water over the cloth and wiped the soap off his back. She switched the wet cloth for a towel and patted his skin dry.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick.

“Once you be done, my liniment be helpful with soreness.” She held up the brown bottle. “Later, I could rub some on you.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “And you, wife? I’m sure you could use some liniment as well.” The suggestive tone of his voice gave another meaning to the words.

Warmth swirled in Antonia’s stomach, and she stepped back. “I have supper on the stove.”

His blue eyes held a knowing look. “We’ll do this liniment of yours after the children are in bed.”

Antonia shut the bedroom door behind her and hesitated a moment, listening to hear if the boys protested. She loved having the luxury of a separate room where the children could fall asleep, giving her and Erik a little time to themselves.

Instead of sitting and reading like she’d expected, Erik stood with a closed book in his hand. He’d turned down the lantern on the table. The yellow light had dulled to a dull orange glow, casting the rest of the room into dark shadows. He slid the book into the gap between two others on the bookshelf. “How shall we do this?”

Something about the tension in his body told Antonia he was as nervous about the idea of their massaging each other as she was. “With Jean-Claude and I, we, ah, just laid down. But. . .” Her voice trailed away, for she wasn’t sure how to tell him that position had often led to other kinds of touches, ones she wasn’t sure about.

Seeming to understand, Erik gestured toward the table. “I’ll just straddle a chair.” His fingers worked at the top button of his shirt.

Heat rose in her cheeks, and Antonia turned away, chastising herself for her reaction.
I haven’t blushed so much since I be a girl.
She reached for the brown bottle on the table and uncorked the top, smelling the yarrow and other herbs she had no English words for.

Behind her, she heard a rustle as Erik removed his shirt. He laid the folded shirt on the table and turned the chair around, straddling the seat and crossing his arms over the back.